Meeting Sherlock Holmes
by Dustfingers-Angel
Summary: (My OC) Charlie James has been sent to a home, a place to recover from her traumatic ordeals. And she resents it, she resents it all, then she meets a guy, his name is Sherlock Holmes, and everything seems to fit into place. Disclaimer; I don't own Sherlock. Author's note, mentions of abuse, murder, drugs, alcohol.
1. Chapter 1

I sat on top of the bookshelf, it wasn't exactly high, but it gave me a vantage point over the room. I brought my knees up to my chest, watching those who came and went. They could leave when they were done, go home, be happy - I was trapped here. I was still shaky, still hesitant in every move I made. I didn't know anyone here - I didn't _want_ to know anyone here. I didn't want to be _here_ at all. My head hurt, aching inside. I quietly sighed, resting my forehead against my knees, taking deep breaths. A few more hours and I'd have to go back to my dorm.

The workers sat with the 'visitors' - _how are you getting on? What are you struggling with? How does that make you_**_feel_**_?_ Three of them had tried again today, but I didn't want to talk to them. They didn't _actually_ care, they're just doing their job - the only thing I couldn't decide was whether they want to keep me here for as long as possible, or whether they wanted me gone for good. They didn't like me - apparently I scared the other 'visitors' ('_patients_' was not allowed).

I raised my head when I heard the door open again, curiosity getting the better of me. The man at the door was one I'd seen many times before - he visited infrequently, often looking worse for wear. He was tall, lanky, with short black curly hair - well, curly when he'd washed it. He often looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. His bones poked out from under his skin. He had a funny name, but I didn't know exactly what it was. A nurse greeted him and I could tell he wasn't here by choice; if anyone could see those signs it would be me.

They had a short conversation then he gazed around room, probably looking for an empty table - he had to stay for at least an hour, that was the rule around here. My attention was diverted to my wrists again as I picked at the scabs there. I wasn't paying much attention to my surroundings, so when the deep voice said, "Do you mind if I join you?" I jumped at little.

The bookcase I sat on was between two taller ones, one of which I was leaning against. I looked the man up and down before answering, "Yeah, sure, why not"

He nodded and sat up opposite me, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his knees up at his chest. "Sherlock" he said, as way of introduction.

I nodded, "Charlie"

"Drugs?"

Shaking me head, "Drink"

He nodded. "First time?"

"Yeah, but it's been a long haul"

"Opposite of my problem, once I'm out I always end up back in" he was leaning over, shoulders hunched, so thin that I could see every breath he took.

"I get the feeling that it's not optional for you either"

"How'd you guess?" He replied sarcastically.

"The look on your face when you walked in. Don't worry, I'm stuck here too"

"You _stay_here?" It was less of a question, more a statement.

"Yeah, got a nice room that locks from the outside _all_ for me"

"How come?" He tilted his head. I didn't answer, staring at the ground. "Sarcasm as a defense mechanism" he muttered to himself.

"What?"

"You use sarcasm as defense" he stated again, seeing my reproach, he leant forward slightly "You know your about the most interesting person in this room?"

My narrowed my eyes and frowned "_What_?"

"I can read _everyone_ else, I can't read _you_ properly. That makes you interesting... And you were alone."

"Maybe I _want_ to be alone"

"If you did you would have told me to go away"

I huffed out a laugh, "If you say so"

"I say so" he smirked "I deduce people, that's my thing - would you mind?"

Taking a breath I considered it, "Okay genius, let's see what you can do" I smirked.

"_Right_, you're younger than you look, that's why you have to stay here."

"How old do I look, like?"

He considered it, "Twenty, twenty one at a push"

I smirked, "Seventeen"

He leant forward with his elbows on his knees, "You've gone through a lot but its hard to tell what's related to what."

"Go for it"

"Both your parents are dead," he said softer, "but, there was a _step parent_ \- step _father_?" I nodded, "He was abusive, in more way than one" he added cautiously. I nodded. He frowned at me, as if he was trying to concentrate, "He was killed... but he killed someone too?"

"He killed my mum and I killed him. He was hurting the boys too, they were his sons, my half brothers"

He nodded. "But that's not why you're here, _obviously_"

"_Nope_"

He tilted his head, "You were living alone for a while, just you and your brothers." I nodded, "_Drink_" he repeated quietly to himself. "You started drinking after you killed your step father because..."

"_Nightmares_ \- no medicine worked"

"So you drank yourself to sleep" he said softly, almost sympathetically, understandingly. I nodded, "You were still at school though, how'd you get it?"

"Stole it"

"Ah, but you dropped out of school."

"Not much choice about that - they don't like you turning up drunk. Besides, they were all arseholes"

"They don't like you turning up high either"

"Got that feeling"

"So, you dropped out of school, then... you broke your leg - it's the right time frame" I nodded, "But you didn't go to hospital... _because_ your were drunk"

"That and the fact that I couldn't have walked if I'd tried. I fell down the stairs and the bone snapped"

"_The bone snapped_," he repeated, "so you couldn't put pressure on your leg. Your money went towards your brothers so you didn't have a phone. No way to call for help."

"And my brother's we're scared of getting me in trouble so they wouldn't tell anyone"

"But... your brothers died" I nodded. "How?" The way he asked, it wasn't as if he was being invasive, his voice was soft, curious, gentle.

"They'd gone out to steal medicine for me, got caught trying to steal it and ran away from the shop... and got hit by a truck trying to get home."

"I'm sorry" he said, almost robotically, as if he knew that he felt bad for saying anything, but didn't know what to do about it.

I nodded, "_That's_ why I'm here. They found me with a broken leg, full of alcohol, not having slept in weeks, screaming for my brothers. Then they told me they were dead." Sherlock stared at the wooden shelf we were sitting on. "I was taken to hospital, my leg was reset, I had to detox, I missed my brother's funeral, I wouldn't eat, I was self harming... I tried to kill myself... That's why I'm here. That's why I'm stuck here." I rolled up my sleeves and showed him the damage I'd done.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have started this" he stared at the cuts and scars, but not in a way that upset me, it wasn't disgust or pity - it was interest, interest in _me_, compassion _for_ me.

I shook my head and rolled my sleeves down. I smiled. "It's fine, we're meant to share and shit, right?"

He tried to smile, "Right"

"Alright then, your turn _genius_"

He nodded, "My turn" he laughed, leaning back. He nodded, "Hard to know where to start"

"Start with why you came to talk to me" I suggested.

"I can relate?" he said, smiling, "I'm kidding. You are so much more complicated than anyone here, far more interesting and a hundred times more intelligent, it's easy enough to see. I can actually hold a conversation with you without without dumbing it down"

"How could you tell though?"

"You think of yourself as above them, but you hide yourself away - you know you're better but you act in such a way as to avoid speaking with them. A bit arrogant but so am I"

I sniggered, "Fair enough. What else?"

"You've read all the books in here, all of them, including the medical journals. So have I, before you got here"

"How'd you figure that one out?"

"All the books have been read, you can tell by their spine - they're more creased since from when I read them. They're in order from Sci fi and fantasy down to the medicals - the ones you find most interesting to the least interesting. I know you like Sci fi because the last time I was here I made a sarcastic comment quoting Doctor Who and you were the only one to react to it - the episode that quote was from aired in the early seventies before you were born, the only way you would know it was if you'd watched the previous series and, to be honest, there are few people who's do that."

"Well done Sherlock" I said, surprised, a grin on my face. He smirked, enjoying the praise. "So you're in for drugs then?" He nodded. "Why?"

He shrugged, "Sometimes everything gets too much. I need to distract myself"

"Yeah but there's other ways to do that. So I'd say you've got self destructive tendencies"

"I'd agree, yeah" he considered me for a moment, examining me like a new puzzle, despite the beginning of our conversation. "You worked... close to the police?"

"If that's how you want to put it, yeah"

"Me too" the way he looked at me encouraged me to go on.

"When my mum was killed no-one would believe my testimony. I started going to crime scenes to best them at their own job - the longer I did it, the better I got."

"You learned to profile to piss off the local police force" Sherlock smirked, "I'm impressed"

"By what?"

"Your determination"

"Shut up" I smiled.

We spoke for hours, until 4:30, when I had to leave for dinner. Sherlock developed a plan, on how both of us could be done with the place for good and he promised to come in the next day. I had my part to play, cooperate with the staff, convince them I was ready to leave. Sherlock needed something, or someone to keep his mind busy, and I needed to leave the place forever. It was risky but if everything worked out, it would be possible.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

For the next few weeks we met every day, two o'clock to four thirty, curled up on top of the bookcase. I was happy to get out of bed again, like I never was able to before - there was something to get up for now. I had a friend, an actual friend who was there for me, who went out of his way his be there for me. I'd never had that chance before - there had always been my Mum to worry about, or the twins, or my own safety of course, not that that came first.

We spoke about everything. And Sherlock got to know me better and I got to know him, about his family, Mycroft, Mummy and Daddy, about his childhood, Redbeard and school. I'd never been close to anyone like this. I'd never had a friend since nursery. I'd never met anyone like Sherlock, someone who understood how hard it was, how much of a struggle everything once was.

We'd have been out of there quicker if I hadn't had the smart idea for us both to sneak up to my room for a quiet place to talk - nope, i had to 'understand and respect the rule and why they are put in place'. Bloody idiotic of me.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Three weeks after that first conversation we walked out of the home side by side, my belongings in a suitcase Sherlock had brought for me. "So," I asked, "where are we going?"

"I've got a flat I'm renting about twenty minutes from Waterloo station"

"How'd you manage that?"

"Mycroft unwittingly pays for it"

I laughed, "Okay then. So, bus to the nearest train station?"

"There aren't many other options"

"No, there are not "

He smiled down at me,"Well then, this way Miss James" he offered me his arm. Linking my arm with his, we walked to the nearest bus station - smiles on our faces, because now we were free, and we could start all over again.


	2. index

This story is one of a series. In chronological order they are:

\- Meeting Sherlock Holmes

\- Back to Work

\- Save Me from my Nightmares

\- New Year

\- Study In Pink

\- Lazy Morning

\- Tragedy Shaped Her

\- An Average Day in 221B

\- Christmas Isn't What It Used To Be

\- Killing Yourself Slowly And Calling It Coping

\- Left Broken by his Fall

\- Reunited

I'll update this as more are published :)


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